


Saints Preserve Us

by CozyKotatsu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Byleth DOES NOT KNOW who the saints are, Claude and Flayn are partners in crime, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Jealous and Clueless Seteth, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Recruit Everyone Route, Secret Crush, Silver Snow spoilers, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyKotatsu/pseuds/CozyKotatsu
Summary: A year after the establishment of the United Kingdom of Fódlan, Byleth has quickly adjusted to both her roles as Queen and Archbishop of this new land. As spring draws to a close, Byleth begins to restore the Four Saints statues within the monastery under the guise of preparing for the upcoming holidays, but it's really just to see that light shine behind Seteth's eyes again.Meanwhile, Claude returns for Byleth's upcoming birthday celebrations, leading Seteth to fear he's there to whisk away their queen on the back of a white wyvern before he can confess his feelings for her. But is there someone else that the Almyran king is really there to try and steal away?
Relationships: Flayn/Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 90





	1. Rebuilding a Nation

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy folks, thanks for stopping by! This is my first fe3h fic that I've been plotting for a while, and I hope you enjoy it. I've got a bunch of stuff written so expect more chapters soon, but for now please enjoy this chapter! Btw this fic will alternate between Byleth and Seteth for each chapter, just keep that in mind!
> 
> Rated T for: swearing, mentions of past violence in future chapters, random nongeneral things
> 
> -Day of the Roses festival is in Garland Moon, which is sort of like the Asian White Day holiday. Women give white rose flower crowns to men they have feelings for  
> -Saint Cethleann day is this world's version of Valentines Day, and has a more Asian custom where men return gifts to women who gave them flowers on DotR  
> -SCday is also Byleth and Flayn's birthday, which is when her birthday celebration will be. 
> 
> Just wanted to clear that up because I know a lot of this is headcanon mixed with canon :3

_Harpstring Moon, 1186, The United Kingdom of_ _Fódlan_

_Nearing the anniversary of The Five Years War’s conclusion, the United Kingdom of Fódlan has begun to fully recover the damages wrought by a half-decade of bloodshed and strife. Under the watchful rule of Her Holy Majesty, political reform sweeps the newly established kingdom, with decades-old conflict with neighboring areas finally beginning to reach peace. With the aid of Queen Petra of Brigid and King Claude of Almyra, the three countries freely enjoy trade, commerce and immigration on a united front._

_Her Holy Majesty quickly adjusts to both her titles as the country’s ruler and Archbishop, with the assistance of both of her royal advisers, Seteth and Flayn. The three work steadily together to restore Garreg Mach Monastery to its former glory, and to prepare it for the Academy’s upcoming reopening. For now, they begin to prepare for Her Majesty’s birthday celebrations only two moons away…_

Byleth struggled not to unleash a massive yawn as she stretched, the plush fabric of her conference room chair not enough to stop her body going stiff. She winced as she felt several joints in her back crack, the several hours of meetings doing little kindness for her bones. If she had to endure another meeting about discussion of noble uprisings in the old Adrestian territories, Byleth was half-inclined to march down there and strangle the sympathizers herself.

The thought made the ruler groan as her fingers began massaging the ache in her temples. She knew that uniting three former nations under one kingdom would be painful, but if she knew how much paperwork was involved she almost would have declined Claude’s offer. Dozens of minor factions that sympathized with the old Empire’s cause still laid scattered across the lands of Adrestia, Leicester and Faerghus, insistent on resisting the new ways of government and adamantly refusing to cooperate with current law. Byleth had lost track of how many factions of knights she’d had to disperse over the past few months, only for them to return with a sniveling nobleman who cowered at her feet the moment their disputes were brought before her face.

She had long since utilized the Sword of the Creator, instead having laid it and the rest of the Holy Relics in the tombs they had been originally stolen from. However, the current queen didn’t need to physically intimidate in order to command respect; years as professor and commander instilled such a natural air of authority to the woman that those in her presence couldn’t help but bow to her demands. 

Byleth sighed heavily and closed her eyes, leaning forward to rest her head on the table in front of her as the headache took full focus across her head. Thankfully, the majority of the country’s people had seen the good they were trying to do, believed in the core focus of this new kingdom’s message and were trying to uphold it as well. The queen should be thankful that the process had gone as smoothly as it had. She had her friends to thank for that, she supposed.

Nearly every student from her Academy days had joined their cause during the war. Though Byleth had taken command of the Golden Deer house, nearly all the students from both the Blue Lions and, yes, even the Black Eagles had taken their ideals to heart and dropped their entire lives in order to defend from Edelgard’s armies. Now that the war was won, they had scattered across the Kingdom to resume the lives they had left behind, or in some cases, start completely new ones.

Claude and Petra left for their home countries to spread their message and try and bridge peace between the three nations. Some enlisted as knights in her guard, others set up shops or established families, while a few wandered the lands as mercenaries or explorers. Others, however, elected to remain by Byleth’s side and help her guide this new Fódlan as her advisory staff.

Rhea stepped down from her position as Archbishop, too weary and guilt-ridden after the events of the war shed light on some of her misdeeds, instead simply devoting herself to the church and soon-to-be-opened Academy. 

Flayn had begun to busy herself with taking care of the families left behind during the war. Several orphanages and soup kitchens were opened in the surrounding area of Garreg Mach, and Flayn prided herself immensely on overseeing both construction and maintenance of such facilities. She was well known and well loved by the community, and used this to her advantage. Flayn was no stranger to organizing balls and festivals to celebrate the kingdom’s endless list of holidays and special occasions, and it was said there wasn’t a person in Fódlan who couldn’t be charmed by the young girl.

Most importantly, however, was Seteth. He threw himself completely into his role as an adviser and right-hand to the new ruler, always there whenever Byleth had a question or concern. He had helped her forge new policies and laws that helped establish the foundation she and Claude had envisioned for this new land, doing whatever he could to ensure nothing like the war could ever happen again. Seteth had even taken it upon himself to become Byleth’s tutor of sorts, educating her on the extensive history of the previous three countries, their relationships with the neighboring lands, and all the religious knowledge she was expected to have as the Archbishop. Byleth had to admit; she’d be truly lost if it weren’t for him.

The clinking sound of ceramic touching down onto wood shook the ruler out of her thoughts, the sound rousing her and causing her to open her eyes. A steaming cup of tea had been placed in front of her, and the calming smell that wafted from it let Byleth know it was the medicinal blend Manuela had composed to cure her of the near-constant stress headaches. A smile quirked itself onto her face, and Byleth knew who was responsible before she even looked up.

“Thank you, Seteth. Truly this is going to be a wonderful help,” she said, scooping the cup into her hands and taking a slow, greedy sip. She could already feel the magic infused into the beverage seep into her nerves, the harsher sting of the migraine already starting to fade away. A warm chuckle answered her, and Byleth glanced up to see Seteth looking down with a similar smile. 

“Indeed, I, too, never thought that the council was going to cease their endless bickering. I had this brewing before they even left,” Seteth replied, a slightly exasperated look taking over his features. Byleth snorted in agreement before he continued. 

“As much as I agree with having the local nobles in for moonly discussions on their territories, sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the stress it causes you,” he said, his brow creasing further as Seteth examined Byleth’s face for any other symptoms of discomfort. The genuine interest in her well being brought a fresh flush to the ruler’s face, and she had to shift her gaze back down into her teacup. 

Yes, she truly didn’t know what she would do without Seteth, especially when he stirred such emotions inside of her like this. Their closeness over the years had forged a tight friendship and relationship as his adviser, yes, but Byleth knew that wasn’t the only thing she craved from the elder male. Ever since her fusion with Sothis all those years ago, Byleth had been able to feel emotions so much more intensely than she had her entire twenty-one years of life.

The lingering sorrow from her father’s death, the burning hatred she had for Solon as he slipped from her fingers, the regret she had at cutting Edelgard down during the climax of the war. The horror she felt when learning exactly who she was, and _what she was_ . Her mother had been a homunculus whose sole purpose had been to give life to Sothis, only to perish bringing her into the world instead. The ghastly feeling of wielding the Sword of the Creator increasing in thousands once Byleth learned that this entire time she had been cradling her oldest friend’s bones in her arms.   
  


However, throughout all of these events, Seteth had been there. A candle in a dim room, a shoulder to cry on when the weight of the world truly felt like it was going to collapse from balancing on her shoulders time and time again. Byleth was endlessly, truly grateful for the support he had given over the years, and continued to willingly give. She could, of course, say the same for Claude. The mischievous tactician had been there since the beginning, helping Byleth unravel the tenacious threads barely holding together both Edelgard’s plans and Rhea’s secrets. He was her best friend, her brother-in-arms, her most trusted general and someone Byleth could depend on for the rest of her life.

But.

But when Byleth looked at Claude, thought about him, it was happiness at being near her friend, yes. However, it was merely that. He was pleasant company with his infectiously cheerful attitude, someone the woman could turn to if she were having a bad day and needed a well-timed prank or joke to bring a smile back to her face. The relationship was close, but more in a familial sense than anything. It was completely different from how Byleth reacted in her soul when thoughts of Seteth came to her mind. If happiness was a lantern lighting up a dim room, the emotions she experienced when near Seteth were akin to the sunlight touching your skin after months of being locked away. A warm, enveloping comfort that Byleth felt in the tiniest nerves of her body, an overwhelming sense of _safe, secured, protected._

Unfortunately, no matter how strongly her feelings for Seteth were, Byleth knew in her soul that they could never be revealed. She knew that his heart still belonged to another, a woman long-since buried under the rocks at Rhodos Coast. Whenever Flayn’s mother was brought up in conversation, Seteth would still have that faraway look in his gaze, that familiar thousand-yard stare Byleth knew she got herself whenever her father was brought up. Seteth was still deeply in love with the wife he lost long ago, and Byleth knew that she was drunkenly, stupidly, maddeningly in love with a man whose heart would never belong to her. And thus, her mother’s ring stayed locked away in the leather pouch she found it in all those years ago, buried in the dresser of her small-clothes in her bedroom. 

Byleth released a heavy sigh, her mind still very much wrapped up in its own spiraling. A warm hand on her shoulder jerked her out of it, and she looked up to see Seteth with a very concerned expression.

“Your Grace, are you..alright? I’ve been talking for several moments and I’m not quite sure you heard any of it. Do you need to rest for a while? I’d be more than happy to-” Seteth was cut off by Byleth shaking her head, the movement making the small charms dangling from her tiara tinkle as they clacked against each other. 

“It’s fine, Seteth. I suppose I’m more tired than I was expecting after the meeting, but I can perform the rest of my duties. We just have to go over the upcoming schedule, correct?” Byleth attempted a convincing smile, but Seteth merely squinted at her disapprovingly. 

“If I tell you no, you’ll simply sneak work in while on bed rest anyways,” Seteth sighed, relenting. “And yes, that is all that’s left. Next moon you have the Day of Roses festival to celebrate the Garland Moon, and all that’s left until the Academy opens in a few months is…” he paused to look at her with a guarded expression. Byleth groaned heavily in response, leading to him chuckling slightly. 

“I keep insisting to Flayn that I do not need some grand celebration for my birthday. I would be more than content with a simple gathering of just the two of you, perhaps whomever was in the area invited for a small dinner celebration, _if that,_ ” she complained, draining the last of the tea in her cup. Seteth nodded in understanding, but already had a look of contention on his face before she had finished her sentence.

  
  
“I understand that, Your Grace, but this is the first major celebration that the United Kingdom is going to be having. It’s important for the morale of not only the people, but for the guests whom you’ve invited. Nobles from all across the country, different countries, from all walks of life, celebrating the one who brought them all together,” Seteth said, the speech clearly rehearsed from Byleth’s recurring complaints. She couldn’t help the snort she let out in response, and Seteth rolled his eyes slightly before his expression grew fond.

“Aside from that, you share a birthday with Flayn as well. She’s having such a wonderful time planning this for you, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint her for her birthday, would you?” Seteth’s voice was teasing, his expression smug. Byleth felt her face flush from the sincerity of it and sighed dramatically, giving up the debate. 

She knew that Seteth knew she could never disappoint Flayn, no matter how much she despised being the center of attention, but seeing her adviser bring up his young daughter and the fondness that always overtook him when he did so brought that familiar warmth. She shook her head slightly, pretending to carry on her dramatized exasperation, but really it was to try and shake the blush from her cheeks as Byleth fought not to stare at the warm smile on Seteth’s face. That man truly didn’t realize the things he did to her when he had that expression. 

“While we’re on the topic of celebrations, how did the Day of Saints go? We’ve been receiving visitors to the cathedral all day and night, it seems,” Byleth said, attempting to distract from her burning complexion with more discussion of work. It succeeded, as Seteth’s expression brightened once more as he began to shuffle through some paperwork in his hand. 

“Indeed, it seems like every person who stopped by for prayer today left some sort of donation as well. The entire worship hall seems to be overflowing with food, blankets and various other supplies, as well as several substantial monetary donations from anonymous sources,” Seteth recited, eyes shifting over the papers. Byleth let out a pleased hum. The shelters in the area would do well with those supplies, and she was overjoyed to find out that the call to charity had been answered so heartily by the community. 

“Well, the hour is starting to grow late. We best get over there and assist with sorting everything before it grows too dark to do so. If we hurry, we can have the supplies out for delivery early tomorrow morning,” Byleth said, gathering her robes so she could stand. The garment was a heavier, more traditional version of her Enlightened One regalia. This version was not meant for combat, and was something she only wore for important meetings, which Byleth was thankful for as it was far too weighty to be practical in everyday use. A simple black cotton dress that laid under an intricate white and gold wrap, the collar of which nearly towering behind her head as it extended into a heavy cape behind her. There were far more dangling baubles and charms that Byleth felt were necessary, and the charms made a tinkling noise as she accompanied Seteth from the conference room towards the cathedral.

  
There were still visitors scattered amongst the clergyman and nuns, praying silently on the benches despite the hour creeping towards early evening. Church workers scurried about with armfuls of various bundles, the trail of traffic leading back and forth towards the statue hall on the eastern side of the church. The pair followed the crowd, and soon enough large piles of food, blankets and other necessities came into view, stacked neatly around the feet of all four statues.

  
  
Byleth let out an impressive whistle, gazing at everything around her. It had been her idea to run a sort of donation event in order to celebrate the Day of Saints, since each saint had their own designated holiday associated with them that required more specific celebrations. It had clearly been a resounding success, and Byleth turned her head to comment so to Seteth, only to see him gazing up at the statues themselves, an almost forlorn expression on his face.

“What is the matter, Seteth? Is there something wrong with one of the statues?” Byleth’s tone was concerned, unused to seeing such a faraway look in the man’s eyes. He simply sighed softly to himself, emerald eyes shifting back and forth between the four metal figures in the room.

“It’s...nothing, Your Grace. It really-” Seteth paused upon seeing the encouraging, sincere look in his friend’s face. He sighed again before continuing. “These statues have been here since nearly the monastery’s foundation. They..hold a lot of sentimental value, you see, to the church, and I,” he paused again, and Byleth’s eyebrows shot up slightly, unused to seeing her adviser this uncomposed. “I simply had the thought that it would be nice to see them restored to their former glory, is all, Your Grace. The attendants here in the church do their best to upkeep the statues, but I can only imagine how radiant they looked when first constructed. Especially now, with visitors coming to pray to them once more in droves,” Seteth finally concluded, a bit of a flustered look on his face. 

Byleth hummed, rolling the thoughts over in her mind for a few moments. The donation drive had been inordinately more successful than she could have imagined, and the supplies alone would be enough to sustain the neighboring shelters for some time. That, coupled with her own personal funds and a few borrowed favors from the local craftsman…

“Alright. I’ll have the restoration process started by this week’s end.”

Seteth choked on a sigh he was taking, warmth creeping over his face as his head snapped to the side to look at the ruler beside him. “Y-Your Grace, surely you don’t mean- I mean, surely there are better uses of your time and resources. I was simply reminiscing, please disregard-” The man’s cheekbones were near scarlet as he attempted to backtrack, but Byleth simply laughed softly and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Seteth, I promise that it’s fine. It clearly means a lot to you and…” It was Byleth’s turn to pause, the woman unsuccessfully willing the warmth not to meet her face. “I want to do this for you. F-For the Church, I mean.’’ _Smooth._

Seteth coughed nervously into his fist, looking away before fidgeting with his robes, adjusting wrinkles that weren’t there to begin with. He nodded resolutely, finally recomposed. “Well then, Your Grace. I shall contact the local craftsman and estimate a budget for the project. Hopefully it will be done in a few weeks or so,” he said, back to his adviser role once more, though Byleth didn’t miss the happier pitch his voice took on. 

A warm, genuine and private smile stretched across her face as Byleth turned her gaze back to the statues. She would restore a thousand statues if it brought that warmth to his voice again.


	2. The Ballad of Saint Cichol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cichol has dealt with many emotions. Happiness, love, heartbreak, rage, loss.
> 
> Seteth is dealing with many emotions. Happiness, longing, heartbreak, jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just giving some insight on Seteth's backstory. I've taken liberty with some of the backstory since we don't know his wife's actual name, and a few details have been altered to suit the story. Hope you enjoy!

Emotion was something Cichol was no stranger to. He understood and had experienced the full range of human emotion, despite not being one himself. In his early years, he had known the warm comfort of his mother’s embrace, the joy and fullness that came from being surrounded by his brothers and sisters. 

When he met Lovisa, that happiness had expanded twofold, along with the nervousness and anxiety that came from his first love. Cichol loved her with his entire spirit, and he knew that the two were destined to be soul-bonded together for the rest of their long lives. She was a beautiful Nabatean woman, with a voice that chimed like birdsong and grace that knew no bounds. Cichol was truly sure that the adoration he held for her would compare to no other. 

That was, however, until he cradled their newborn daughter in his arms, tiny wisps of mint that matched her mother’s erupting in chaotic curls from the blanket. Cichol pledged that day that not a single soul in his Mother’s lands would harm the two girls in his arms, and the overwhelming happiness filled their days for many years. 

Until the humans attacked the Nabateans, and the once beautiful Zanado would be forever scorched by his Mother’s final, overwhelming act of retribution. 

Until a stranger, thirsty for revenge, slaughtered her while she slept, desecrating her body and stealing her power for his own along with nearly a dozen of his brothers and sisters.

Until one morning at the break of dawn, his armies pillaged their village on Rhodos Coast and Cichol watched as hundreds of his siblings were slain. He and Lovisa fought alongside them as they fell, doing their best to keep the enemies at bay. His poor, sweet Cethleann, not even seventeen years old, was blistering her fingers bloody with the pure powers of healing magic as she attempted to revive as many as she could, human and Nabatean alike. 

Cichol knew many emotions, but not one could compare to the pure agony he felt as he watched Lovisa fall from her Pegasus, an arrow protruding directly from her throat. Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl, and he nearly broke his legs leaping from his wyvern in an attempt to scramble to her. 

Cethleann’s screams of agony matched the anguish in his heart, and Cichol watched his daughter crawl to his wife’s body, blood dripping from her fingers as the teenager attempted to revive a heart he knew had stopped immediately. Cichol’s world seemed to process in a blur, the man barely registering the sniper nearby.  Cethleann suddenly shrieked in pain, another arrow materializing in her side as the girl crumpled over on top of her mother. A furious snarl ripped itself from Cichol’s chest and he stormed to his feet, lance shaking in his grip as he stared down the attacker. It was a dark-skinned man on horseback, the archer already notching another arrow in his direction.    
  


The sight of his siblings’ gnarled bone and tissue, shaped into the gruesome apparatus of a bow, was the last thing Cichol needed to throw the spear blindly at the archer, not waiting to see if the attack his its mark before he gathered Cethleann into his arms and took off. 

Hidden away in an underground cave, Cichol clutched his daughter to his chest and sobbed. She was breathing, but only just. The man knew precisely how to save the light of his life, and proceeded to perform an ancient Nabatean healing ritual. As light surrounded the pair, Cichol could feel some part of his soul painfully detach itself away from him, the energy and magic that made up his very core escaping his body to nestle itself into his daughter’s heart.    
  


He would no longer be able to call on his Immaculate form, but his daughter would live. Cethleann would survive, but the ritual was not at a cost. She would need time to recover, time for her soul to contain the ancient magic he had used to repair her wounds. Her body, too, would be frozen in the state it was at when he saved her. His beautiful daughter, forever seventeen years in appearance.   
  


So Cichol waited. He waited for the nearby battlefields to clear out, and then proceeded onto the beaches where his wife lay, long cold and motionless. Alone, he dug a small grave for her at the foot of a rock formation, using the last dredges of his magic to contain the resting spot with a protection spell. Alone, Cichol made his way back to where Cethleann slumbered, and he remained there by her side as she slept.

For several centuries she slept, Cichol moving the two of them around to different villages and hideaways whenever he felt their location had grown unsafe. He knew his sister Seiros had ended the war, had defeated the man who had slaughtered their entire race. He picked up information where he could, gleaning anything useful that he could use to protect what was left of his family.

It seemed that after the war, only five of their ancient race remained. Himself and Cethleann, Seiros, and two of their brothers. Macuil and Indech had both lost their Nabatean forms in the war, using their Immaculate bodies to aid Seiros in defeating Nemesis. They, too, lived in seclusion it seemed.

Society changed around them, kingdoms and empires and alliances forming from the conflict of the humans. Cichol wrote as much of what he learned down as he could, knowing Cethleann would have centuries of history to catch up on when she woke.

In 1162, he caught news of a Church of Seiros, located in the heart of the three territories. Hopeful, Cichol smuggled himself and his daughter inside, only to be met by the loving and tearful embrace of his sister Seiros. She welcomed the pair with open arms, giving them fake names to match her own and a secure fortress to protect Cethleann in. 

She awoke from her slumber nearly two decades later, and Seteth swore to himself once more than nothing would stop him from protecting her. 

Seteth knew many emotions, yes. 

Righteous fury with his sister at her secrets, at her decision to hire the Ashen Demon of all people to teach at the monastery, at the fortress that protected his daughter not even a year after reuniting with her. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling of distrust, of the hateful aggression that slipped out of his composed mask whenever Byleth was near. Her casual invitations to tea were shunned with a cold and detached sense rejection, Seteth sure she was only trying to get close in order to get near Flayn.

He once again felt the absolute sorrow and despondency upon hearing Flayn had been kidnapped several months later. Fear, panic, and dread all wrapped up into one chaotic mass that suffocated him, drowned them in their depths as Seteth desperately searched for his daughter.

The joy and gratefulness he felt towards Byleth was incomparable as she deposited a barely-injured Flayn in his arms again once her students escaped the underground tunnels, the woman badly beaten but determined to return the girl to her family. Relief had flooded his senses as he cradled those mint-green curls, so like her mothers, and Seteth would later be horrified to admit that he had broken down at the professor’s feet, sobbing praises and gratitudes as he rocked his sleeping daughter.

Something deep in Seteth’s soul changed that night, and he viewed the professor in a completely different lens. The woman he had previously seen as a sketchy, calculated and mysterious assassin was simply a reserved and friendly teacher, a former hired hand who had been swept up in the whims of his sister.  He no longer rejected her advancements for tea, nor did he turn down her casual gifts of paper and flowers with a hateful grimace. In truth, Seteth began to look forward to the interactions, the man finally opening himself up to the idea of friendship after so many years of being closed off. A tiny, terrified part of him even toyed with the notion of that friendship progressing into something more.  Seteth even revealed the truth of his relationship with Flayn, and he even considered revealing his true origins, finally breaking the seal on his millennia worth of secrets.

Then Edelgard had invaded, and both Rhea Byleth disappeared without a trace.

Seteth had carried on those five years barely treading water, the war wearing the ancient man down and struggling to keep Garreg Mach afloat while searching for two of the women he held dearest. 

And then Byleth had reappeared like Sothis herself descending from the heavens once more, swinging the sword of his Mother’s bones hard enough to end a tyrannical empire. Hard enough to destroy the monster who had slaughtered his entire race, to finally put an end to the five and a half years of hell the entire land had been through.

It was finally over. It was finally over, and they had won, and now they had an entire nation to unite. A nation with Byleth has the new ruler, with Seteth as her adviser.  He was, quite frankly, shocked, when she called him to the goddess tower after the final battle. Byleth had explained to him this new rule that Claude was thrusting upon her, and practically begged him to stay by her side and guide her.  It was an offer he hadn’t quite been able to refuse. 

Nearly a year later, and Seteth had kept his promise to Byleth and together the two managed to build a new government out of the ashes of the previous three. He worked tirelessly to ensure that she had everything necessary to both rule a kingdom and preside over the church, and the two were no strangers to working well into night time together on whatever new policy or decree needed to be done.

It was during these long nights together that Seteth began to notice a rekindling of a years-old flame in his chest, one that burned ever so slightly brighter and warmer whenever Byleth was nearby. He attempted to chalk it up to their necessary closeness, but Seteth was adult enough to admit to himself that there was a sense of longing behind the emotion, something more than admiration for his leader.

Oh, he admired Byleth, surely, but that didn’t quite encapsulate the bundle of feelings trapped in his ribs whenever she was near. Seteth began to catalog his reactions to various things, such as the sensation of fluttering in his chest whenever she graced him with one of her warm, private smiles. The pride and joy he felt whenever she complimented him on a job well done, or the sincerely grateful look she reserved just for him whenever Seteth could provide her with the exact advice or answer she needed to a problem. 

It wasn’t a sensation Seteth had felt for nearly a thousand years, not since his beloved Lovisa walked this land. An emotion that he was terrified to admit to himself out loud, but once he realized it there was no use arguing with.

Seteth was absolutely, undeniably smitten with the new leader of  Fódlan, and there wasn’t quite much he could do about it.

After all, he was her trusted adviser. Her closest friend, her most guarded resource as both queen and Archbishop. There was a firm line in the sand there, an arm’s length away and behind from the crowned ruler of the nation, a line that Seteth knew very distinctly he shouldn’t cross. She needed his wisdom, his insight, and to be able to come to him at any moment with a concern without fear of his own personal thoughts or emotions clouding their judgement together. How would that be possible if she knew exactly how fiercely he longed for her?

He was simply a lecherous old man, so lonely after so many hundreds of years that Seteth decided that he had latched onto the first scraps of attention someone had paid him, and that wasn’t worth risking one of his longest and most treasured friendships over.

That sort of self-deprecation is what ultimately led to his decision to withhold he and Flayn’s true heritage from her. It was a poor decision as her adviser, yes, and it wasn’t that he distrusted Byleth too much to let her know the truth. It was purely from a place of selfishness, a desire to rationalize away any reason to confess, as he could simply tell himself he was just  _ too old for her. _

Needless to say, when Byleth had relented to his aimless fantasy of restoring the four Saints statues, he was completely floored. It was a selfish request, something he passively longed for as a way to quietly remember the ancient days of his past. He had tried to argue that it wasn’t necessary, that their simple upkeep would be enough for now. However, Byleth had simply replied that it would do well for the future holidays celebrating the Saints, and well, how could Seteth argue with his own brand of reasoning?

The man sighed quietly to himself as he wandered through the cathedral, the sound of the seasonal spring downpour racketing off the tiles guarding the steeped roof. The sound echoed almost poetically in the nearly-empty church, the dreary skies peering in through the freshly-restored stained glass windows. 

The sound of fabric on metal caught his ear, and Seteth made his way to the hallway of Saints where he assumed it to be coming from. Surely enough, the ruler of Fódlan stood atop a makeshift ladder, her regalia switched out for a simple pair of breeches and loose top. Byleth had her hair tied back loosely, and Seteth could see the hue of metal polish staining her upper arms. She had a small pot of the varnish in her hand and a cloth in the other, and was carefully applying the liquid to Saint Macuil’s metal face.

Byleth’s eyebrows were scrunched in concentration, her nose wrinkled and tongue slightly poking out as she focused on the finer details inside the Saint’s eye. As she turned to wet her cloth, Seteth could see that a streak of varnish had made its way across her face, emphasizing the light smattering of sun-freckles that dotted her cheeks.  Byleth looked casual, unbothered by her appearance and simply put, completely unfitting the appearance of a queen or holy leader.

Seteth thought she was the most beautiful sight he had ever laid his eyes on. He moved a hand over his mouth to hide the surely dumbfounded expression he knew he was wearing, and the sudden movement in her peripheral caught Byleth’s attention. She glanced over at her adviser, and that familiar smile stretched itself across her face.

Seteth nearly choked on his own breath.

“Hello, Seteth. Surely if you’ve come looking for me, I must have been at this for some time. Apologies, I wasn’t aware how late it was into the afternoon,” Byleth said, hooking the materials on a loose tool belt around her waist before making her way down the ladder.  Seteth had to force himself to look away instead of at the tantalizing shifting of her hips and rear.

He coughed into his hand, trying to pull himself back together before she could notice. “Yes, well, no issue at all, Your Grace. The weather isn’t permitting much to be done today, I’m afraid, as no one particularly wants to brave the rain for meetings.” Seteth busied himself with the papers he had forgotten he had been holding, further shifting into adviser mode.

“Of course, I can hardly blame them. However, it seems as though you’re here on rather important business. Is everything alright? You seem a bit stressed,” Byleth asked sincerely, her eyebrows drawn up in a concerned expression. Seteth glanced at her for a mere moment and forced his gaze to return to the papers, willing the blush slithering up his neck to cease its path.

“I-I’m fine, Your Grace. Perhaps a bit under the weather is all,” Seteth replied, his voice slightly cracking. He coughed once more to clear it. “You were correct in a way, though I’d hardly call the news dire. I simply came to inform you that several of the invitations for your birthday celebrations have been answered. It seems quite a few of your former students are determined to make it,” Seteth said, offering the list out to Byleth.

A wondrous smile broke through the concern and Byleth eagerly snagged the list from his fingers, her eyes quickly raking over the words, as if searching for something. The excitement in her eyes died just a glimmer, and she glanced back up at Seteth, the smile drooping a little.

“Have we yet to receive word from Claude about his attendance?” she asked, her voice sounding somewhat hopeful. Seteth’s heart twisted in his chest, and it took years of practice to school the grimace that threatened his face. 

“Ah..apologies, Your Grace, but it’s been several weeks since we’ve heard word from Almyra and none of the correspondence has been in regards to the festivities,” he said, the knot in his chest tightening further when her expression became even more downcast. “I will be sure to inform you the moment it arrives.”

  
  
Byleth simply nodded in reply, the disappointment in her eyes unmistakable. Seteth, barely able to breathe properly, simply excused himself with a bow. “I’ll let you carry on with your work, then, Your Grace.” With that he quickly turned away and quickly walked back towards the main building, a deep frown settling into his expression.

That was the main reason, Seteth knew, that he would never have the courage to confess his adoration for the young leader. He was many things, but the Saint never claimed to be a blind man. He had witnessed the deep connection that Byleth had with the young King of Almyra, had consoled her and cheered her spirits when he had departed for his home country.  Byleth’s expressions knew no bounds whenever she Claude were together, and as much as he hated to admit it, Seteth couldn’t begrudge anything that put that much light behind her eyes. He knew it was a selfish thought, one unbecoming of a man of the church, to silently wish that Claude never made a return to Fódlan. 

At the very least, he at least prayed that one day they’d receive correspondence alerting them of the upcoming Royal wedding of Almyra, one between Claude and whomever he had chosen. 

As long as it wasn’t Byleth.

Seteth finally made the journey back to his office and released a heavy sigh as he sunk into his chair. There was still so much to do before the celebrations the next few moons, letters to respond to, meetings to plan. He truly wondered sometimes if there were enough hours in the day to get everything accomplished.  With another sigh, Seteth picked up his quill and went back to work, his mind unable to stop drifting to the memory of polish stains and ponytails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, fam. No set upload schedule, but I'm hoping to get at least one chapter out a week. I have the whole story plotted out, just not sure how many chapters it will be. Look forward to hearing what you think in the comments :) Im awful at replying but please know I read and appreciate every single one


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